Shadow Of The Bat: Created Equal
by killakenny
Summary: Created Equal is a short story that re-envisions the young vigilante, Batgirl, in a dark, unforgiving Gotham City. Through her, we view a world plagued by corruption and evil and follow her as she embarks on a vigilante crusade to take back the night. Does she have what it takes to deal with the harsh dangers of vigilante-life? What will happen when she finally meets Batman?
1. Like Father

SHADOW OF THE BAT: Created Equal

The Gotham City Police Department is failing the citizens of Gotham City and the people are being held hostage in their own homes by organized crime. Officer Barbara Gordon feels she can make a difference but she needs to get out from behind a desk. As if things couldn't get worse, a close friend of Barbara's is attacked and Barbara has finally had enough. Inspired by Gotham's shadowy vigilantes, whom she follows closely in the media, she takes to the streets as BATGIRL to deliver justice in a way the GCPD cannot. Does she have what it takes to deal with the harsh dangers of vigilante-life? How far is she willing to go? And, what will happen when the elusive and terrifying BATMAN finds out that she is impersonating him? Will he consider her an ally or treat her no differently than any other criminal?

"Created Equal" is a short story that re-envisions the young vigilante, Batgirl, in a dark, unforgiving Gotham City. Through her, we view a world plagued by corruption and evil and follow her as she embarks on a vigilante crusade to take back the night. Expect a visit from none other than the Caped Crusader, Batman, and the first Robin, Dick Grayson! Strap on your capes and pull on your cowls, it's going to be an empowering one.

Disclaimer:

I do not own Batman. DC Comics and Bob Cane do. I'm just a huge fan that grew up in the shadow of the bat, that wants to expand the mythos.

Also checkout:

Shadow Of The Bat: Best Served Cold

Shadow Of The Bat: What's A Girl To Do?

Shadow Of The Bat: Flying Solo

AND...

STAY TUNED FOR:

Shadow Of The Bat: Bats Of A Leather (Coming July)

Shadow Of The Bat: Janus

Shadow Of The Bat: To Kill A Gotham Bird

Shadow Of The Bat: Devils' Night

Shadow Of The Bat: Laugh To Death

* * *

:::Four years-prior to the events of SHADOW OF THE BAT: Best Served Cold:::

8:13AM

"Dad, I really want transfer to the Gang Unit or the Major Crimes Unit. I talked to my captain about a potential transfer but he said that he couldn't endorse it without _your_ approval. Care to explain?"

My name is Barbara Gordon. I'm a 24-year old native of Gotham who worked as a police officer assigned to the Cyber-Crimes Division of the Gotham City Police Department. Cyber-crime is a constantly busy and integral part of law enforcement and I was grateful for landing the job. Honestly, though, I was bored out of my mind and wanted to do something more high speed. Problem was: I couldn't branch out in the force because my precinct commander was remiss to allow me. Matter of fact, I found out that he was being blocked by the guy all the way at the top, my father, Commissioner Jim Gordon.

I don't know what made me angrier, the fact that my boss didn't have any stones or the fact that my own father was using his leverage as the Police Commissioner to prevent me from moving away from a desk-job. If my father wanted to manipulate the chain-of-command to keep me under his watchful eye, then I'd skip the chain-of-command entirely and just take my grievance to him directly. I see your move Jim Gordon and I'll raise you one.

"Honey, I don't think the GU or the MCU are good fits for you," my father said half into his hand. It had been plastered to his cheek since the moment I walked through his office door. "Plus, your expertise makes you a major asset to the C2D."

The phone rang but he ignored it with a glance.

"What do you mean, '_not a good fit_'? You know, while you may still think I'm a prissy, little girl, I've grown up. I've dealt with worse than what Gotham has to offer."

"Honey, you were anything but prissy as child—"

I didn't let him finish. "I want to be in a department where I can make a real difference. In the C2D, all I do is read emails and monitor networks. That's not the difference I saw myself making. I want to be in the trenches where the dirt happens. I want to be where I can make a direct impact on the lives of Gothamites."

"I understand that—"

The phone rang again. He glanced down at it.

I cocked my head trying to regain his attention. "So what's the problem?"

We regarded each other silently; our expressions similar, mine taking after his side of the family. He said nothing, so I started in, "I don't know where this overinflated belief that I need to be protected from the dangers of the world is coming from. I'm perfectly capable of standing on my own two feet and—"

The phone started ringing yet again; that was the seventh time since I walked into his office.

His finger shot up. "I've got to take this one real quick.

"Commissioner Gordon. Huh? Are you serious? That man is going to be the death of me. Okay. I'll call him. Thanks, Glenda."

He hung-up the receiver and looked up. "Barbara, listen—can we talk about this another time? Right now I have a mayor so far up my ass that I can taste his shoe polish _and_ I'm dealing with a major internal affairs fiasco."

"Yeah," I said turning to leave, "sure, dad. Whatever you say."

I pushed through his door and marched across the executive floor to the stairs with as much purpose as I could muster in hopes that it would demotivate anyone with the intent to stop me. I was in no mood to have anyone try to pump me for Commissioner-gossip like I'm my dad's personal repository for strategic planning. The best way to kiss the Commissioner's ass was _not_ through his daughter.

Despite my intensity, I could feel everyone's stares. They were watching me from their doors, through their windows, and over their cubicles as if they all knew what was going on. I felt instantly self-conscious.

I knew they all thought I was coming up here to get a handout from daddy-dearest but that wasn't at all my goal. I had to work hard for everything in life and I wouldn't take anything that I didn't work for—call me prideful. After all, it wasn't like I was Bruce Wayne and grew up with a silver spoon in my mouth. I just wanted what I deserved.

In Jim Gordon's house, you didn't take the easy way out, you played the cards you were dealt to the best of your ability. _Even Jacks and Queens, when played properly, can win books_, he would say to me. Dad loved playing Spades; he used to play all the time when he was in the Army. Apparently, he loved the game enough to relate life lessons to it.

Anyway, I took his advice and gave one hundred ten percent one hundred ten percent of the time. I graduated salutatorian of my high school at 16 and after spending a year in the community college, I decided to be one of the _Few-and-the-Proud _by enlisting in the United States Marine Corps as a combat engineer. My father wasn't very happy about that decision but he didn't voice it. I spent most of my tour in Japan and deployed to the warzone. After I came back to the states and discharged, I enrolled at the University of Gotham City graduating with my Bacheleor's Degree in Information Systems and a Master's Degree in Crypto-Network Securty in only three years. To put it bluntly, I was more qualified than the majority of the people on the force and could have been a huge asset to those frontline departments. Instead, I was going to go back to my office and sift through a horde of phishing emails—tip of the spear, premier crime-fighting. Yippee—I couldn't wait to get back to that.

A wave of relief washed over me once I made it into the stairwell and out of the hungry eyes of the executive staff.

As I neared the bottom of the stairs, it sounded like I was walking into a zoo with all the hollering coming from the front desk. There was a middle-age man dressed in rain-soaked street clothes stirring up a mountain of commotion in the lobby, banging on the desks and counters and throwing papers and any loose object he could get his hands on. The security detail was trying to calm him down—albeit, not doing a good job of it—and restore some semblance of order. My interest was piqued, to say the least, so I rubber-necked as I exited the stairwell and walked to the far side of headquarters. I wasn't alone; everyone within earshot came to see what the ruckus was.

My coworker Cecil Murphy was among the crowd of spectators. He was watching the drama from the mouth of the hallway that lead deep into the bowels of Gotham Central where the C2D was sequestered.

"Murph," I tossed a thumb over my shoulder as I approached him, "what's this nonsense all about?"

He shrugged without taking his eyes off the scene. "Some urchin came in off the street saying that he needed to be arrested. Not really sure what for but he did say that the Bat was after him."

"The Bat, huh? In broad daylight?"

"Yeah." He shook his head. "The Bat has this whole city in a headlock, even by day. How long has it been? Three years?"

"Sounds about right."

"Sometimes I wonder whose side the Bat's on...when stuff like this happens, I mean."

The hysteria in the man's face was sincere and flush; he was practically frothing at that mouth. The Bat had him genuinely terrified. Either that or the drugs he was on were causing him to hallucinate. After all, it was mid-afternoon and, according to the MCU, Batman-sightings generally occurred between the hours of ten o'clock PM and four o'clock AM.

"Well, I suppose that depends on which side you're on."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Murph asked me finally looking in my direction.

"Didn't mean _you_ you, Murph. I meant _you_ in general."

"Well, I ain't no bogus cop."

"I didn't say you were. Jeez, does everyone think I'm part of my father's inquisition? I'm just saying that the Bat hasn't assaulted any old ladies coming home from the grocery store."

"I suppose so. But I don't trust nothing that crashes through windows and flies."

I chuckled, "Fair enough—but I seriously doubt that he's the _spirit of vengeance _that the tabloids make him out to be."

"I personally ain't trying to find out. Apparently, two guys from the MCU had a fairly recent run-in with the Bat. One of them has since been medically retired."

"I heard about that. You'd think all the other corrupt cops would learn."

"You'd think. Anyway, I'm not sure why they ain't just tackled him and put him in cuffs."

"Who? The Bat?"

"Well sure. But I was referring to this guy," Murph said pointing at the man causing the commotion.

"Because this is Gotham, Murph. The criminals and the crazies are the only people who get any sort of leniency."

"Ain't that the truth? Alright, I've had enough of this circus act. I'm heading back to the office."

"Right behind you. I still have a million-and-one packets to review."

"You wouldn't have that many if you didn't spend so much time researching articles about the Bat."

"Are you stalking me now, Murph?"

"Maybe. But it ain't hard to notice. Every time I walk by your desk you have some article up on the internet about it. And," he put a finger in the air, "when you were in the coffee shop like two days ago you, you were reading Jack Ryder's latest article about it."

"You really are stalking me."

"I'm a cyber-guy, Gordon. It's my job to stalk people."

"You do know that I'm an expert marksman, right?"

"Sure—_once a Marine, always a Marine_ as my old man would say to me constantly. But I was just thinking that maybe the Bat ain't the kind of guy you want to be looking to marry."

"What? A girl can't be attracted to a guy who gets to go tricking-or-treating three hundred sixty five days out of the year?"

"I mean if that's what you're into…"

"Nobody hated-on Mina Harker for having the hots for Dracula."

"Except Jonothan Harker. He definitely had some heartburn over it. As a side note: Mina didn't have the hots for Dracula. She was manipulated and controlled. At least, that's what you get from the book rather than the movie."

I raised a brow. Wow, I didn't realize Murph was such a nerd. "Touché," I conceded. "Alright, I have to knock out at least half of this before I leave today or I'll be working this weekend."

"More work, less Bat, Gordon. More work, less Bat."

"Noted."


	2. The Call

6:52 PM

Oh, the frustration.

How it made work difficult.

But at least the commute from Gotham Central in downtown West Harlow to my home in midtown Bonita Hills gave me enough time to decompress and consider some other options. Stuck in the C2D concentration-camp was where I was going to stay if I continued my employment with the GCPD. Perhaps, I could look elsewhere. Perhaps, north towards Newark, west towards Philadelphia, or south towards Metropolis. I could even consider returning to the Corps with a commission. But then I'd be running away from this problem and that's not my modus operandi.

Once you start running from problems, you never stop. And, the more you run, the easier it becomes. I'm just not that kind of girl nor was it the Gordon style.

While I drifted away in thought sitting in gridlock traffic, my phone rang. The ring tone was my favorite cheesy pop song from adolescence and it brought a smile to my face as I reached for my phone and picked up. The caller ID read Brittney Chase, my best girlfriend.

"Hey, Brit. How are you, hun?"

"Oh god, Barbara, I don't know what to do," she dribbled through the receiver.

"Brittney? Honey? Is everything alright?"

Her voice was terror, devastation, and shame. She called to me and pleaded with me to help; asking over-and-over again what she did wrong. Her sobs were the sum of defeat and humiliation.

"What're you talking about, Brit? What's going on? Talk to me."

"I—I don't—I don't know what to do. I don't know."

"Do about what, hun? You're not making any sense."

"I don't know why he did this to me. I didn't do anything to him. I didn't do anything to _them_."

There was a quake in my chest at the thought of what she could be implying. I feared the worse but desperately hoped that I was wrong. Her sobs, however, confessed that my fears were real.

My blood started to run white hot. I hoped that I was wrongfully jumping to conclusions but I knew better. I had heard this same kind of distress in a girl's voice after she had been attacked in the barracks in Okinawa.

"Who did _what_ to you, Brittney?" Despite my efforts, my voice was hardening. "Where are you?"

There was a long moment of incoherent sobbing before she finally told me: She had gone to a local pool hall frequented by the guy she had recently started dating. He was there drinking with some friends when she had arrived. Their relationship was still in its infancy so she grew uncomfortable with his unsubtle, intoxicated advances and decided that it was best to leave and catch up with him later.

He was apparently embarrassed by her rejection and angered by the berating of his entourage. The mix of embarrassment, anger, and alcohol compelled him to press the situation in spite of her decision to leave. At which point Brittney felt that he had crossed the line and she struck him.

He retaliated aggressively and then forced himself on her. Overpowering her, he pinned her to the pool table and, with the aid of his pack of hyenas, tore off her clothes and raped her—in front of an entire bar that did nothing to help.


	3. Arrest Of Opportunity

7:37PM

I suddenly felt the strain of gravity when I saw her, pulling down on my heart and my soul.

Brittney was sitting alone on a curb beneath the monorail tracks about a half of a block from the pool hall crying helplessly. Her face was a muted canvas of dejection, streaked with makeup, blood, and bruises. Her neck was covered with finger marks and scratches. And, her clothes were cratered and torn. Not a single passerby stopped to see if she was okay.

Damn Gotham to hell.

No one in this city cared about anyone. Gothamites just didn't want to get involved, fearing retaliation from the gangs and criminals. So, Brittney sat on the sidewalk drowning in her on grief without anyone to throw her a raft.

"Brittney," I said kneeling in front of her and rubbing her knee to assure that I meant her no harm.

She didn't look up. Her face was buried in her arms and her shame dripped onto the street.

"Brittney," I figured I wouldn't ask the questions that were obvious _no's—_so I went with my gut, "where is he?"

She shook her buried head.

"Brittney, where is he at? Is he still inside?"

She nodded without looking up.

"Okay, honey," I said rattling my car keys in my hand, "I want you to sit in my car. I'm going to run inside real quick. Can you do that for me?"

She nodded again coughing and sobbing alternately. I helped her to her feet and then to the car. She dragged the soles of her shoes as she walked—hobbled really—not wanting to move her aching thighs. I lowered her into the passenger seat and then aided her in lifting her legs into the car; she winced as I did so. Then I reached across and started the engine, switching the heater on in the process. "Okay, sit tight," I said. "I'll be right back." She didn't acknowledge me. I shut the door and started making my way back to the pool hall.

Good thing it was autumn and frigid, otherwise I may have spontaneously combusted with the anger that was building. There was a hotspot growing at the base of my skull that threatened to erupt into wildfire of violence. I checked that my sidearm was still in its holster beneath my armpit. If the wildfire grew to a fever pitch, I would need it. I was going to make Derrick pay for this and I was trying to decide whether I should use the two bullets that had his name on them.

I got to the front door, threw it open, and stormed into the bar. The patrons, numbering maybe fifteen in total, paused briefly looking in my direction and then, uninterested, went back to their drinks. There were three men playing pool in the basin off to the right.

I assumed _he_ was one of them.

I stalked over, my fists clenched. "Which one of you losers is Derrick?"

"I'd be Derrick. Who's asking?" He was a fair-skinned man of average height and a stocky, medium build, if not a bit overweight. His face was nearly square with almond shaped eyes, a goatee, and receding dirty blonde hairline.

"The Gotham City Police Department, you asshole. You're under arrest," I asserted pulling my sidearm.

Everyone stopped and he put his hands up. "Watch where you're pointing that thing, you crazy bitch!"

"Funny," the dark-haired man next to him said drawing a weapon in response. "I wasn't aware of any warrants for his arrest."

I recognized the guy. He was a beat cop from the precinct that had jurisdiction over this area. My aim bounced between them.

"This is an opportunistic arrest." My mouth filled with disgust. "This man assaulted and raped a woman tonight. He'll be lucky if he makes it to the station alive."

"We don't make arrests of opportunity on this side of town."

"Did you not hear what I just said?"

"I don't think you heard _me_ correctly," he retorted.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. He was a cop. He was supposed to protect and serve. But the only thing he was protecting was this animal, not the innocent woman who had her dignity taken from her.

I cocked my head in his direction to speak; it was the wrong move.

Derrick grabbed ahold of my gun and yanked it, dragging me along, and buried his fist in the side of my face. I felt the floor shift beneath my feet and the world became instantly blurry as my eyes filled with tears. I managed to catch myself against the pool table behind me, realizing that—like a true Marine—I still had my gun in my hand.

Derrick was coming at me. I tried to clear the haze in my head so I could regain my footing and raise my gun but he was too quick—or I was too dazed. I felt a beer bottle smash against my eyebrow causing at first a sharp pain and then numbness. The impact didn't help my blurred vision.

I fell back onto the pool table again and heard Derrick make another move but the cop stopped him.

"Whoa!" cautioned the guy. "Chill-out, slugger!"

"This cunt just pointed a gun at me!"

"This cunt is the police commissioner's _daughter_. Let's not make this messier than it already is."

They were silent for a few seconds. I was debating whether to stand up and try to shoot him or just admit defeat. They made the decision for me, though. "Help me get her outside."

The cop wrenched the gun from my fingers and then grabbed my arm, Derrick grabbed the other.

"Way-to-go, man. She's bleeding everywhere."

I heard my feet scraping across the floor followed by the jingle of the door as it opened. Then, I felt the concrete as the sidewalk rushed up to hit me. At least I didn't hit my head; it landed against the back of my hand.

Dammit.


	4. Wrong Approach

2:05AM

Two O'Clock A.M. was the worst time to be in any emergency room in Gotham City. The lobby was a proverbial Baskin Robins of drama—choose your flavor. I felt absolutely ridiculous sitting there.

I had managed to scrape myself off of the sidewalk, stumble to my car, and then, despite the blood in my eye, drive myself and Brittney to the hospital. She obviously needed medical attention and I just knew I was going to need stitches. To make matters worse, in my daze, I had called my dad and he was going to show up at any minute. If I had been in my right mind, I would have left him out of it.

The automatic doors swung open and my dad flew in, spotting me and swooping over to where I sat.

"Omigod, Barbara, what happened?"

"I was playing badminton, dad. It got a little rough."

His face was stone except for his smoke-colored, bushy mustache. It twitched when he was stressed.

"Brittney called me upset. She's been raped by the guy she's been seeing. So here we are."

His eyes locked onto the wad of paper-towels that I had pressed to my eyebrow. I don't know why I'd thought that maybe he wouldn't see them. I guess my mind still hadn't completely rebooted post-impact. But that was where he became overly paternal and I was left wishing that I never called him.

"What happened to _you_?" he asked.

"I was being a tough guy and went off and confronted the asshole. Things got a little out of hand."

"Barbara." There was derision in his voice. He didn't sound surprised—disappointed maybe, but not surprised.

"What was I supposed to do? Just let him get away with it?" I suddenly forgot that I was supposed to be keeping pressure on my eyebrow and I lifted my head from hand. Blood immediately began to run down the side of my face. I caught the stream with the wad and pressed it against my face again. "Goddammit."

"Here let me help you."

"I'm fine, dad," I said pushing his hand away. "I've got it.

He righted himself in the chair and glanced at the circus act going on around us while he tried to stow his feeling of rejection. I held my now throbbing head in my hand, supporting it by propping my elbow up on my knee. I'm sure I looked pitiful—I definitely felt the part.

"How long have you been here?" he asked after completing one full revolution of the room with his eyes.

"I don't know. Like six hours."

"And, you're just now calling me?"

I shook my head the best I could without letting up pressure. "I don't need this right now."

He took the hint and we sat quietly for a while amidst the medical frenzy, dad rubbing my back.

"Honey," he said after a moment.

"Hmm?"

"You should've let the police handle it."

"I am the police, dad."

"You know what I mean."

"Funny that. One of them was a cop, too. He didn't seem to care too much."

"Damn corrupt cops." Dad clenched his fists. "I'm sorry, Barb. They're like a disease; no matter how many I bring down, three more replace them." He went under his glasses with his thumb and index finger and massaged the bridge of his nose. "What happened?"

I let out a sigh, I wasn't really in the mood to talk about it but I at least owed him that for coming all this way in the middle of the night. "I went in and confronted him. I had the upper hand, too. The problem was that he—and everyone with him—didn't take me seriously. They weren't the least bit intimidated by me because I'm a woman."

"Barbara—"

"He raped her, dad. He took from her the only thing she had left sacred in the world. The only thing any woman has left sacred on this god-forsaken planet. And he took that from her because he felt slighted. I can't just let that go. I've seen this happen before and the scars are insidious. Maybe you can't understand it because you're not a woman. How could you understand?" I didn't look up. "What if it had been me? Would you have just _let the police handle it_?"

I could feel his eyes.

Just then all hell broke loose: Seven men spilled through the doors screaming for help, startling the fifty or so people already filling the tight space. Two of the men were assisting another in walking—his right leg was mangled and pointed in an impossible direction. Three others carried the last man who was spilling blood every which way. They were all pretty beat up but those two had surely pulled the shortest straws.

They carved a path through the crowd to the nurse's station and when they got there, their screaming became suddenly coherent.

"We need a goddamn doctor!" the skinniest one yelled.

"Sir, I need you to calm down," one of the three women at the desk said seemingly unfazed by the men's urgency.

"Fuck that! We need a doctor now!"

"Sir, what happened?"

"The fucking _Bat_ happened!"

The _Bat_ happened.

Funny that.

My dad sat there watching, appearing almost content beneath his glasses as if their fear was the climax of a much anticipated plot to a great movie. The look on his face was like everything was suddenly right with the world—his mustache had stopped twitching.

I stole my attention away from my dad and back to the seven men. They mobbed the counter like starved rats fighting for bread crumbs, clawing and screaming and crazed by fear. That intrigued me...greatly.

The light bulb came on: My approach had been wrong the whole time.


	5. He Would Always Remember

3:11AM

I was not going to let Derrick get away with this.

Six days had passed and nothing had happened: The police hadn't made an arrest, no one came to investigate, and not a single social worker came to Brittney's aid.

Brittney, for her part, refused to go home. She was terrified that Derrick was going to come for her. She hid beneath a blanket on my couch most of the day and cried to herself sporadically. At night she would come into my room swearing that someone was in the house. She was a nervous wreck, so terrified, in fact, that she would not shower until I came home from work.

No one should have to live with that kind of fear. Derrick was going to pay. And, if the law wouldn't punish him, then I would. I would do what the Batman does: I would make Derrick live with the same fear that Brittney was going to live with for the rest of her life. I planned to attack him in the night and leave him so injured that he'd never forget what he had done.

He frequented the pool hall that I confronted him in. So I waited outside until he left and I followed him; he wasn't alone. He and his crew were all too inebriated to realize that I was following them in my car. I parked along the curb about a half of a block from the front door of his tenement and turned it off. I watched them stumble up the stairs to door and go inside. A moment later a light came on in two windows on the third floor; I could see them moving around inside.

I was nervous.

What am I saying? I was downright scared.

My mind was racing. Was I going to be able to pull this off like I saw it in my head? What if they were heavily armed? What if they weren't scared of me—surely there were people in Gotham City that weren't scared of the Bat? What would happen if they got the drop on me instead? Would they beat me? Kill me? Rape me? What would happen if I ended up going to the wrong door?

This wasn't the first time my mind raced in a situation where I second-guessed myself. I remember when I was leaving the airport on a bus to Marine Corps Recruit Depot, Parris Island. It's a bit hazy now but I remember thinking I was out of my mind. I had the same feeling years later when my platoon ended up in a two-hour long firefight outside of Kabul, Afghanistan. I swore that I had gone crazy to have gotten myself in that situation.

So there I was questioning my sanity for sitting in my car on a remote, unpopulated street dressed in black BDUs, a Kevlar vest, a gun belt, and a cheap Batman mask that I picked up from a street vendor downtown in the museum district. It wasn't very sturdy but it covered my face—what it didn't cover I blackened with camo-paint.

I pulled my pistol from its holster and inspected it. Satisfied, I drew the slide back and chambered a round. It was now or never.

I put my keys on the floor, climbed out of my car, and force marched down the sidewalk to the stairs. Admittedly, I felt a bit ridiculous with the mask on and hoped that no one emerged onto the sidewalk to see me.

Reaching the stairs, I climbed them two at a time to the front door and checked the window for loiterers on the dark landing, keeping my weapon pressed tightly to my thigh. The mailboxes were to the immediate left and the stairs were further back to the right but I didn't see anyone. Convinced that it was empty, I pulled the door open and slid in.

I used the light from my cellphone to illuminate the placards on the mailboxes.

Derrick Myers. APT 32.

Third floor—second apartment. Easy enough.

More stairs meant more ambush points. I kept my eyes peeled, scanning the corkscrewing flights as I ascended them slowly.

I came to the door of apartment thirty-two and hovered, listening for sounds inside. Although I had my ear pressed to the door, I was trying to talk myself out of this foolishness. I came up with a thousand reasons to walk away but none of them outweighed what needed to happen. If I didn't do this, no one would. Brittney would live the rest of her life with her shame and without retribution. And, Derrick would get away with his crime. He would never be held accountable and lord knows how many more victims he'd take.

If I was going to turn back, now was the time. Once I started this, I wouldn't be able to take it back. Was this what I wanted? No, I didn't want to have to do this but what choice did I have? If I left and went home, I would be saying that rape is acceptable as long as it doesn't happen to me.

No—I refused to accept that. I refused to be a victim. I refused to allow other women to be victimized and I refused to let him get away with something so heinous.

Apprehension turned into anger. I took a deep breath, pressed a finger into the peephole, and rapped on the door with the barrel of my gun.

It was done. There was no turning back now.

There was movement behind the door. "Who is it?" a voice yelled.

I didn't answer; I just readied my weapon.

When the door opened, I needed to be in _go-mode_. The anticipation caused sweat to pool inside my gloves.

"Man, I don't know who it is," the voice said obviously responding to someone deeper in the apartment. "I can't see through the peephole."

The deadbolt came unlocked with a snap-click and then the doorknob rattled and turned. Just as I saw a sliver of a bald forehead and eye peaking the through the crack of the door, I mustered every ounce of strength I had and tried my best to heave the door off of its hinges with my foot. The door protested and flung open but never fell. The man at the door wasn't so lucky. He flew from his feet after being struck in the head by the door and fell over a side-table onto the floor in the claustrophobic, little hallway.

I charged in keeping my weapon angled down at forty-five degrees to keep him in my aim and scanned the area behind him. I tried to keep my mind clear but the intensity caused the rotting browns of the nineteenth century architecture to go red. I couldn't allow myself to get sucked-in.

I could hear two men screaming in the main room. One of them slid around the corner with a baseball bat in his hand, his gaunt face going white when he saw me. "Oh shit! It's the Bat!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, stutter-stepping backwards.

I snapped my pistol up level and pulled the trigger twice.

BOOM! BOOM!

He fell backwards shrieking and clutching his shoulder.

I resumed my aim on the bald man who was crab-crawling away from me as I came into the room. I came over top of him with my gun in his face.

"Please," he whimpered. "Please, don't kill me."

His buddy rocked on the ground holding his shoulder writhing in pain.

Where was Derrick? The bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen were to my immediate left. I scanned the room. TV, couch, crates, open-window.

That was one of the two windows I saw from outside and neither had been open at the time. It was November and too cold to have the windows open—unless they were smoking but I didn't smell smoke…

Derrick was trying to run.

I sprinted to the window and looked out. Derrick was only two stories above me climbing the near-blackness of the fire-escape. Not fast, though, the alcohol was impairing him terribly.

My thumb clicked the safety as I stuffed my pistol into its holster and climbed out onto the ladder—skipping the platform—and began immediately climbing.

Derrick was about three stories ahead of me and struggled to keep the distance with in his drunken state. As he reached the top, he tripped and nearly went over the side. Panic exploded in my stomach as I saw him grasp the rails; admittedly, not because he would have fell to his death but because he would have eluded me by doing so.

He regained his footing and started moving again. His near fall allowed me to close the distance by a half of story.

Once we cleared the top we took-off in a sprint, Derrick just ahead of me—just out of my reach. I drew my weapon, slammed on the breaks, and fired a round into the air. Derrick threw himself to the ground covering his head with his hands.

"Don't kill me, Batman!" he screamed gasping for air. "Please don't kill me!"

My lungs burned and I could taste the camo-paint in the sweat dripping onto my lips from underneath the mask.

Derrick sat up on his knees and managed to turn halfway. In my mind, I saw Brittney beg Derrick not to hurt her and not to brutally take her. I felt a sudden rage swell in my chest like the two airliners colliding head-on beneath my ribcage. It was the same feeling I had when I was in Afghanistan and several of my fellow Marines were killed by insurgents. The rage was kinetic and expanding and I needed to release it.

I walked up to him and planted the barrel of the gun against his forehead. We stared into each other in the eyes. He could see my outrage and he looked so weak and broken. To think that just a week ago it was him standing above me feeling triumphant and powerful after he had beat and raped someone that I considered family.

"Please, Batman. Please don't kill me. I didn't do nothing. I swear to God I didn't do nothing."

My how the tables had turned. And, I was going to ensure that the tables stayed that way.

The muscles in my hand flexed causing the leather of my glove to creek. Derrick knew what was coming next and closed his eyes bursting into tears.

No. Death was too easy—I learned that from the insurgents in the warzone: that there were things worse than death.

The weapon shifted in my hand and I struck him in the mouth with the handle—CRACK—I put everything I had into it.

Blood and teeth spilled onto the roof.

I only felt a little better, though—vindicated. Now, it wasn't for me, it was for Britteny. His blood and teeth couldn't replace what he took from her, but perhaps it would give her the same vindication.

I whipped him with the pistol repeatedly, mangling his face more and more with each strike. He shrieked and pleaded. I felt no remorse for him, just like he felt no remorse for Brittney when took her, shrieking and pleading.

He laid face-down on that lonely roof in his own filth and blood sobbing like a rape victim. His face was distorted and swollen and bleeding shame. He wafted a pungent ammonia smell. The tough guy, who assaulted women in his free time, pissed himself.

I turned to leave and my eyes caught a shadow cast on the roof by the moon; the shadow was long and ominous and had two huge pointed ears. It was the shadow of a bat—and it was my shadow.

I had never felt so empowered. The violence didn't thrill me, it was the retribution. It was knowing that Brittney would wake tomorrow and her fears had been conquered.

I remember the similar feeling of empowerment when I graduated from recruit-training, I was officially a United States Marine. That moment of empowerment was only a fraction of what I felt standing above the animal that attacked my dearest friend.

In that moment, I understood the vigilante in ways no one could. To some he was the figure of Gotham mythology. To others he was a scourge that haunted the night. To me he was an icon—a beacon—of what I had been looking for.

"Derrick, this isn't over," I said not taking my eyes off of my shadow. "I'm gonna be watching you."

I doubted he could hear me…but he'd always remember.


	6. Why Didn't You Tell Me

11:22AM

My dad was sitting in the third booth along the far wall of Willie's Diner sipping a freshly poured cup of black coffee. Willie's was situated on the corner of a side street just up the block from the tenement in which Dad raised me. As a girl, dad would bring me here to eat twice a week. Now, we barely made it to Willie's once a month but we still tried our best to make it our family tradition.

"Hi, daddy," I greeted him as I walked in.

"Hi, baby." He stood and wrapped his arms around me, giving me one of those fatherly hugs that a dad reserved only for his daughters; the kind of hug that belies the hardness a man believes he must show the world and instead shows him capable of unimaginable tenderness. "How are you feeling?"

"Better."

If not for the shining example of what a man is supposed to be, I may have lost faith in the male-gender years ago. I suppose his example also prevented me from falling into ridiculous relationships. Or, perhaps, it hindered me because I was looking for a mate that could outshine my father when—in reality—not a male on this planet could measure up. And, even if there were a few that could, they surely weren't living in Gotham. Oddly enough, I found that I didn't measure myself against my late mother's example but rather my father's.

"Looks like your eyebrow's healing well. When do the stitches come out?"

"Next week," I replied pulling my jacket open and sliding into the booth.

"Is it giving you headaches?" He took his seat again across from me.

"No. But the job is."

He didn't say anything; he just looked at me and lifted his coffee cup to his mouth. His mustache was twitching.

"Okay, dad, I'm gonna just get straight to the point."

"I didn't expect anything less from you, honey."

I untied my scarf, balled it up, and stuffed it in my purse. "I understand that the GU and the MCU are very dangerous and you simply want the best for me but I don't need you to protect me like I'm a little girl. I'm a grown woman and—while I'm flattered that my valiant father wants to shield me from the evils of the world—I want to be in the trenches. That's the reason I left the Corps for the GCPD.

"The C2D drives me insane. All I do is sort through data all day. To put it plainly, it's not fair that you use your position as the Commissioner to block me from moving to other departments and I want you to stop…please."

My dad didn't say anything for almost a minute. I watched him intently as he just sipped his coffee and swished it around in his mouth thoughtfully.

"Are you going to say anything?"

"Just gathering my thoughts."

Convenient.

"Barbara," he placed the cup down on the table and adjusted its position between his fork and knife until it was seemingly equidistant, "I have to say that I'm disappointed in you."

"Because I want to do something that you feel is dangerous?"

"I didn't say that. Hear me out."

"I'm sorry." I said folding my hands on the table.

"I'm disappointed in the fact that you would think that I would ever block you from doing something that you want to do or that you think is right. When have I ever stopped you from doing anything?"

"You didn't like that I went in the Marines."

"But I didn't stop you."

"Can I get you something, darling?" the waitressed interrupted.

I tore my attention away from my dad, "I'll have cup of coffee and an order of toast. Um, do you still have honey, Claire?"

"Just because you're the only person who asks for it, Barbara." Her smile was warm.

"Great! Wait—Claire, does that make me high maintenance?"

"I'm not the one you should be asking, Jim's the expert. I'll be right back with your order."

Dad resumed when the waitressed walked away, "Honey, you're more qualified than three-quarters of the entire force at every position the GCPD offers. But I need you in the C2D. There's more corruption in the GCPD than you can imagine and I can't root it out if I can't track it. That's why I had you placed there, because you're one of four people in this city I can trust. Moreover, you have the technical expertise to work in cybercrime. Do you understand what I'm saying? It's not that I don't want you on the GU and the MCU. It's that I have those covered and I need your help with the C2D. There's some fishy stuff going on in there."

"Oh." I felt stupid. "Why didn't you tell me that?"

"Does an old man have to divulge all his secrets?"

I laughed picking up his coffee and taking a sip of it, "Only if he doesn't want to evoke the scorn of the women around him."

"Noted." Dad's mustache stopped twitching, "Are we square now, honey?"

"Of course, daddy, we're square. Except that we need to work on your taste in coffee."


	7. What If I Wasn't Alone

10:47 PM

The bat mask was the most empowering thing I'd ever put on. I felt like I had the means to take on the whole of Gotham's criminal underworld.

I would sit at my desk and replay the attack on Derrick and then imagine taking the fight to other street-hoods and thugs. I often found myself going through mugshots for potential targets to deepen my fantasies. To be honest, it got in the way of my work. I found myself behind too often because I was preoccupied daydreaming. Most women spend their time thumbing through social media reviewing pictures of past significant other's significant others; I spent my time thumbing through criminal archives.

One day, several weeks after I invaded Derrick's home, two officers from the MCU came down to my office with a portfolio that they needed me to look into. The portfolio contained compiled information on an exclusive human-trafficking ring that operated its commercial headquarters out of our very own precious city. The case was five years in the making with a series of potential leads but no concrete suspects. That apparently changed when a fifteen year-old girl who had been reported missing three years earlier in Kansas City surfaced on the street in Ensley malnourished, drugged, and sexually brutalized. Following communication with the girl, the MCU obtained potential identities with which to begin an investigation. However, with nothing concrete, the leadership pulling MCU-strings were unmotivated to push the investigation without blatant pressure. Seeking to pressure the brass, the two officers hoped that I could find an electronic trail of bread crumbs that identified the ring. I was obliged but disappointed—and perturbed—to find that the GCPD prioritized inter-force social functions over the investigation of sexual-slavery.

If they weren't going to do something about it, then I would…and I had just the means.

After three weeks of electronic research and two conversations with the girl—Annabelle was her name—I had a sure lock on an organization consistent with the data in the portfolio. The organization operated a secure website where it bought, sold, and traded male and female sex-slaves as well as communicated with clients and organization members.

The organization headquartered out of a Temp Agency situated on the very edge of the Financial District and Ohannasett Hill. A Temp Agency was a good cover but it wasn't foolproof.

I was disgusted with what Derrick did to Brittney but this nearly caused me to develop misanthropy towards the whole human race. Why would someone demoralize and brutalize another human being for personal gain?

I wouldn't allow it to go on.

I figured since I couldn't convince the GCPD to mobilize with the data that I had uncovered then I could at least get emergency services to mobilize—and by proxy the GCPD—when I left a room full of perverts full of bullet holes.

The website wasn't accessible until after nine o'clock PM which led me to believe that the servers didn't come online until then. Where there were servers, there were people. If there were people, I could dispense a little justice. If there weren't any people, at the very least I could destroy the system. I just hoped I had the right location and that this wasn't a satellite or a front.

I stormed into the organization's front office after-hours much to the chagrin of a middle-aged woman and a portly, balding man conversing at the reception desk. We all exchanged puzzled looks. Me—because I couldn't believe that a woman would involve herself in such despicable trade. Them—because something resembling a bat just forced its way into the office space. Then it registered in their brains, with a series of curses, that the urban legend was true and they were about to be on a first class trip to Gotham General Hospital—or Blackgate Penitentiary—or both. They climbed over each other trying to get out from behind the desk and into the walkway.

I accelerated from the door to the desk, slamming into it as I reach across and managed to get a glove-full of the woman's haggard, auburn mane and yanking her back with a _thud_. She squealed and struggled in my grip while I figured out what to do next since there was a chest-level desk in between us. My eyes locked onto a football-sized penguin vase perched at the corner and I snatched it up and smashed it into pieces over her head. I released her hair and allowed her to fall onto the floor unconscious.

I could hear the man running deep into the office-space. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be back," I said to the woman as I turned the corner and raced off through the cubicles after the man. I finally caught sight of him in the final stretch for a stairwell and managed to draw my pistol and let-off two shots before he disappeared through the door. He had been twenty yards ahead of me when I opened fire and I was sure that I could catch him on the stairwell.

I flung the door open and bounded up the stairs towards the sound of his shuffling feet and pathetic wheezing. I wondered if chasing after sex-offenders was going to continue to be the trend with this bat cover since I was already two-for-two. I also wondered if Batman constantly chased after criminals or if he had elaborate ways of taking them down.

Around the fourth flight of six, the stairwell went instantly black except for the light emitted through the small window of the door at the bottom as well as a dim, flickering light at the top. Then there was crunch and a gurgle and the portly man that I had been pursuing plummeted past me in the space between the stairs. With a metallic _thrumb_ like a piano wire being grinded by a razor blade, the portly man came to an abrupt halt about ten feet from the floor hanging by a thin, taut line that was attached at his ankle.

My eyes followed the line up until it merged with the darkness about one flight above me. Then, I swore that I saw something move at the top of the stairs.

Holy crap! Maybe the Batman was here!

A wave of fear and awe rippled through my body. I had that feeling that a child gets the first time it encounters exotic animals in a zoo, sticking its hand out beckoning the animal and then pulling its hand away laughing uncomfortably when the animal comes near.

I just had to see the Batman—to talk to him. What would he do? What would he say? I had to find out.

I reached the top of the stairs and hustled to the open door, realizing that the light wasn't flickering, it was swaying—something had bumped it. I went through the door into another dark room that was possibly used for conferences when the tables weren't upended and slung to edges with the chairs and there weren't bodies—eight or so in total—lying in heaps on the floor. The whole scene looked like a massacre and smelled sulfuric—teargas sulfuric—like the gas chamber in bootcamp.

I approached the body of a man lying on his side, covered in blood and vomit, and checked for vitals. He was alive but unconscious. Whatever—whoever—got him, messed him up badly—messed up everyone in here badly.

I instantly became nervous. What if I wasn't alone?


	8. Feminize The Look

I never heard him come in but I when I turned, there he was. I jumped at the sight of him, squeaked a bit. I'm sure he heard it, he didn't let on, though. He just stared at me balefully through the shadows, only his eyes and two large ears visible.

Batman was enormous—at least a foot taller than me and as big as the doorway was wide. I couldn't make out his body, however. He was just a head attached to a tower of darkness and silence. His eyes were gun-metal in color and overflowing with malice. If had had fangs, they surely would have been dripping with blood.

The hair on my body was alight with electricity, standing up and arcing with nervousness. I didn't know what to do or say. My eyes darted around trying to think of something. I had imagined this meeting a thousand times and I had practiced this conversation in my mirror an equal number but suddenly I was at a loss for words. Was it terror, respect, awe? I wasn't sure. Maybe it was all of the above. Either way, I suddenly had this feeling that I wasn't going to make it out of alive. I could suddenly feel the Batman's danger and my hand went instinctively to my gun.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." There was a voice behind me—a whisper really. I whipped around. Suddenly, I couldn't breathe. No matter how much I willed my lungs to draw in air, fear paralyzed my diaphragm. "Something tells me that you wouldn't be able to clear the holster."

A shadow with two green orbs for eyes crouched in a window sill filling it with the same blackness as Batman, glaring at me. "What do you think you're doing?" it continued, his voice low and rumbling like scraping gravel.

I opened my mouth to speak but air rushed in instead. My throat spasmed at the occlusion and I coughed trying to clear it.

"I'm not going to ask you again." The shadow crept down from the window and situated itself; its features finally visible in the dim light of the room. Like Batman, it—he—too, was a head sitting on top of a pillar of darkness except that he wore no mask. Instead, his face was painted black above the base of his cheekbones and he wore some sort low-profile tactical jump goggles on top of fluffy, raven hair. He had to be Robin, the second vigilante that the underworld and the media claimed was working with Batman.

The name Robin was given to him in jest by a columnist and the MCU has used the name to identify him ever since. The name was funny. The situation wasn't.

I was scared stupid. As if Batman wasn't bad enough, now there were two of them. This was a bad idea—a really bad idea. A bad idea that I was going to be regretting from a hospital bed…or worse.

"What are you doing?!" he roared like an angry lion defending its territory from interlopers.

"I just want to bring the criminal element to its knees like you!" I blurted, my eyes stinging with tears. I was trembling, too, and I knew they could see.

After a moment, Robin's expression twisted into what appeared to be an earnest attempt to suppress laughter. Then his hand emerged from the darkness and went instantly to his face. "I'm sorry. This is too much." He really was laughing. And, it confused me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Batman hadn't moved.

"Alright," Robin chortled, presenting a hand, "slow your roll, Dirty _Harriett_." He slung his cape back and snapped his hands to his hips, puffing his chest out. "_Bring the criminal element to its knees_!" he mocked with an insultingly high-pitched voice. "_To infinity and beyond_!' Haha, what a space cadet."

I didn't know what to think. Was I in danger? Was this some sort of trick? Was this even the real Batman and Robin?

My eyes shot back to Robin and began to focus hard on his face.

He looked past me. "Don't look at me like that," he said, but not to me. Then his eyes settled on me again and indicated me with a hand. "Nice outfit. I'm digging the whole bat-motif and flak vest. Really spices up your style." Then he looked past me again. "Don't look at me like that. I find this entertaining. She's dressed as a damn bat. That should make you happy. You know you're _somebody_ when you have groupies."

Wait.

What?

Groupies?

His eyes found me again. "I especially like how your mask ties in the back. It really screams _masquerade ball_." He chewed his lip dubiously as he inspected my disguise. "Wait. Have we met before?" he asked suggestively. "I feel like I saw you on a dating website once. Were you, per chance, ever floating on a raft in a pool drinking a cocktail with that mask? Supersexylips224? No?" He shrugged. "Okay."

"You know what?" Robin wiped the air with his arms. "I'm sorry. I'm Robin and the big, angry thing over there is Batman," Robin said inclining his head in mine and Batman's direction. "And, you are? Wait wait wait—don't answer that. Lemme guess. You're dressed like a total ass-monkey and you have a mask and ears. Hm." Robin placed his hand to his face thoughtfully. I noticed that his glove was covered in armor with three stunted blades jutting from the base of his forearm at an angle.

"Um…Batgirl?" he asked, then he became animated. "Baaaatgiiiiiirl! That has a nice ring! Although, I think high-heels would really set-off and feminize the look."

"Feminize the look?" What the hell was he talking about _feminize the look_? Did he have a problem with me being a woman?

"Yeah—sure." His smile was perfect, arguing with the darkness that covered the rest of his body. "You could totally wear that to the Iceberg Lounge and be the star of the show. Those stuffed-shirts would fall all over you. The way I hear it, bats make guest appearances there from time-to-time…"

The Iceberg Lounge was an upscale watering hole owned by sketchy businessman Oswald Cobblepot and frequented by Gotham's most powerful officials and shrewd exotic dancers. Something told me he was lumping me in with the latter.

His gaze left me and angled over my head to Batman again. Suddenly Robin's brilliant smile melted away and a scathing frown replaced it. "Alright, look Toots, this whole thing is very flattering…really. But, this isn't a kick-aerobics class. You coulda gotten yourself killed. You coulda blown this whole operation pulling a stunt like this."

That was a really sudden, bipolar change…

"I just want to help," I claimed.

But he shot me down. "We don't need your help."

"Hold on—"

"We didn't beat you down because we were thoroughly entertained by your presentation. Next time around, though, we won't treat you any different than any one of these criminals. You get me?" He turned towards the window and climbed onto the sill. Just then, in my peripheral, I saw Batman's black mass flow past me and stop just short of Robin, giving me only his back.

"Wait," I said feeling suddenly desperate.

"Get lost, Toots," Robin rumbled lowering the goggles onto his face making him look instantly inhuman. "I don't want you to break a nail."

Then he was gone.

It was just me and the Bat.

The fear came back.

He turned his head just enough for me to make out part of his chin. "Don't let me catch you out here again," he whispered. I felt it more than I heard it.

Then he was gone too.


	9. A Proposal

9:46 PM

I rolled it over and over in brain for about a week. The fear that I felt wasn't the same type of fear that I suspected someone felt when they encountered a ghost. I say that because I tended to follow the reality TV programs that documented supernatural encounters. And, based on the descriptions those people gave of how they felt in the moment, it didn't quite measure up to what I had felt. Or, at least that's what I hypothesized. In any case, I couldn't put words to the feeling. The feeling just _was_. But then it hit me…

I was curled up on my loveseat after work with a blanket and pint of ice cream watching a serial of shark attack documentaries. The victims described a sudden calm with an overwhelming feeling of uneasiness just before—_boom_—out of nowhere half their legs were gone. Honestly, though, it wasn't the attacks that captured my attention, it was the _near-attacks_.

Several victims noted the same feeling of calm and uneasiness when suddenly the huge shape of a killer materialized right next to them. Perhaps it circled them, bumped them, or just swam past without alarm. Whatever the case, most of the victims described a sudden loss of bowel control. I could relate.

About halfway through the serial—and my ice cream—I had the epiphany: Batman and Robin weren't at all like the lumbering, supernatural horrors depicted in horror movies and novels. Batman and Robin were sharks—stealthy, hungry, and efficient—and Gotham was their black ocean expanse.

The experts on the serial claimed that if you saw a shark approach while you were swimming, the shark had already seen you, measured you, and decided that you weren't worth its time. If it had meant to attack you, you would have never seen it coming. By the time you realized the shark was there, it would have already been too late. By the time I had realized that Batman was there, it was already too late. He was hiding in the shadows watching me climb the stairs and enter the room. Then he blocked the doorway so that I couldn't leave. But he didn't attack me because he already measured me and deemed me non-threatening. In a way that was relieving; in a way, that was extremely insulting.

Batman having the drop on me, however, wasn't enough. Like all efficient predators, he had a backup plan. For sharks, the attack came from the murky depths and then they disappeared back into the murkiness again to stage another attack. For Batman, he sought to pinch me between him and his partner. If I had become unexpectedly aware of Batman's presence, Robin, who was apparently watching me too, would sneak in and take me out from behind.

Batman and Robin weren't just two lunatics running around the city in costumes assaulting people, they were professionals—predators that plotted their attacks deliberately and with lethal precision. And, they used fear to impair their prey's ability to fight back.

It was brilliant and terrifying.

All I could do is smile with amazement as I shoveled another spoonful of divine coldness into my mouth. Honestly, the smile was that of relief...that I had managed to survive a shark attack. I could have just as easily been lying in that heap of bleeding perverts. But I wasn't.

As if I wasn't fascinated with Batman and Robin before, I was even more so now. What motivated them? Where did they operate from? How did they plan their attacks? Where did they get their information? The list of questions went on.

CLANG!

I jumped. My ice cream splattered on the coffee table when I dropped my spoon. Something had banged into my sliding glass door. I lived on the eleventh floor! What the hell could it have been?

I walked over to the door and pulled the curtain aside and looked onto the balcony. All I saw was an ocean of city lights. My hand found the lock and handle, gave it a tug, and the door opened—albeit, with a fight; I needed to have my dad come clean the guide rails. Brisk, autumn air rushed in and I immediately wrapped my arms across my chest.

I stepped onto the balcony, searched for the light switch, and cursed when the light didn't come on. Ugh, one more thing I had to do around the house. I approached the railing, glanced around, and looked over the side.

Nothing. Just frigid Gotham-ness.

Perhaps a bird was texting and flying—hit and run.

Back to my sharks and ice cream.

I turned around and tip-toed across the cold concrete back to the door and pushed my way through curtains as I hauled the door shut. I turned and there was a black figure standing on the far side of the room. Before my eyes could focus, the lights went out.

My heart tried to leap out of my throat. I shrieked. Loudly. If this weren't Gotham, my neighbors would have called the police.

"You know you should be more careful, this city's full of prowlers."

"Jee-zuz Christ!" The TV provided just enough light to differentiate Robin from the rest of the darkness. Panting wildly, I pressed my hands to my chest trying to keep my heart in its place. Then, in spite of the darkness, the cold made me feel suddenly _exposed_ so I crisscrossed my arms across my chest again. "And creepy vigilantes, apparently," I panted.

"Apparently," he replied with a radiant smile and a human voice.

"What do you want?"

"Where's your mask? I was really hoping for a little _roleplaying_ action before we got down to business," he said casually leaning against a wall. "You know—'Knock knock. Who is it? The _Batman_.' Brown chicken brown cow." The last part came out musically.

"What're you talking about?"

"Oh, we're gonna play hard to get? Okay. You wait here and I'll go pull it out of its hiding place in the back of your underwear drawer."

"What? No! What—what do you want?"

"To chat," he said matter-of-factly.

"About what?"

"Don't rush me; I don't have anywhere to be."

I let out a sigh of resignation. "How do you know where I live?"

"A little birdie told me."

"Cute, _Robin_."

"Thanks, Babs."

"Babs?"

"Yeah—it has a better ring than Batgirl but I can call you _that_ if you'd prefer."

There was silence between us.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Am I making you uncomfortable?" His question didn't sound sincere.

"Well, breaking-and-entering is against the law."

His finger shot up. "One: I didn't break anything." A second finger followed. "Two: You opened the door."

I looked back at the sliding door. How did he…? "Stop it," I said unconvinced. "I opened the sliding door. I live on the _eleventh_ floor. How did you get in here?"

He waved a dismissing hand—er, gauntlet. "Never ask a magician how he does his tricks."

"This is awkward in the worse way."

"That's a matter of perspective."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged. We looked at each other some more. There was tension…but I couldn't quite say that it was the uncomfortable kind.

"Okay—can I offer you something to drink…or something...since I guess I'm having unexpected guests?"

"Nah…I'll get drive-thru when I leave."

"So is this a social call…Robin?"

"Unfortunately, no. But we can exchange numbers before I leave that way we can explore the social call option later. In the meantime, me and the big guy have a business proposition for you."

"The big guy?"

"You know the one I'm talking about. Big. Dark. Brooding." He put a finger up to either side of his head. "Pointy ears. The big guy?" Then his hands disappeared into his silhouette again.

"Right." My lips puckered with suspicion. "A business proposition? I don't understand. What sort of business would a couple of outlaw vigilantes want with me?"

"For starters, your résumé's quite impressive between your academic credentials and your time in the Marine Corps. Then we take into consideration that you managed to sniff-out that trafficking ring. Your plan and execution of the break-up were rudimentary but commendable—nothing that can't be honed. We'd say that you have exactly what we're looking for, minus your fashion-sense of course."

"My fashion-sense?"

"C'mon, you didn't exactly get that mask and outfit from Gianni Versace. But, that's not why I'm here. I'm here, like I said, because you may have exactly what we're looking for."

Like my lips, my voice became suspicious, too. "What exactly are you looking for?"

"Look, Babs, Gotham's in a bad way. The Rule of Law doesn't exist here. The streets are a hard-place and the corrupt are the rocks; everyone else is stuck between the two. There are good people in this cesspool that are suffering the horror of living in a city that's less like a functioning community and more like a functioning warzone. Surely, you see that. If we all just leave it up to someone else to solve, no one ever will. The proposition Batman and I have for you is a dangerous one—an extremely dangerous one—but we believe that you have what it takes."

"So what _is_ this proposition, Robin?"

"A partnership. That is, if you're down."

"I mean—are you looking for a contact inside the GCPD?"

"No. We have plenty of contacts inside the GCPD."

I pouted my lips. "Then I don't understand what it is that you want."

"Are you ready to take the fight to the streets? Are ready to stand-up for the good people in Gotham? To punish the wicked?"

"Are you serious?" I asked through an uncomfortable, dubious laugh.

He didn't say anything. He just stared into me with his piercing green eyes.

"I—I don't know what to say?"

"Say that you're ready to use Batgirl to set things right—to settle the score."

"Wow. I…uh…I suppose I don't have time to think this over, huh?"

"What's there to think over?" Robin asked smoothly. "The way I see it is: You either want to do the right thing or not all."

"Yeah, but you're talking about vigilantism. I'm a cop."

"You," he started, pointing his finger at me, "became a vigilante the night you decided to kick that door in and go after the man who attacked your friend—yeah, we know about that. Call me the guy who calls things when he sees them. I'm not trying to bash the police as an institution but have they shown up on your friend's doorstep? Have they even so much as written a report?"

I just shook my head remembering that Brittney had only started sleeping in her own apartment again three days ago.

"So what's it gonna be, Babs?"

"I—uh—yes."

"Super," he said melodiously as he rose to his full height and pushed across the living room towards me and the balcony, his cape sweeping the floor behind him. "Well, I don't mean to be rude but I really must get going. There's a lot of evil-doers to crush tonight. We'll be in touch."

"Wait. So that's it?"

"Yup."

I was incredulous. "What do I do now?"

"Pretend this conversation never happened."

"Are you serious? What just happened to _being ready_?"

"Babs, we should do dinner. I know an amazing place uptown. But you'll need a black dress and heels. No Bat mask."

"Are you hitting on me now?"

"I have a thing for redheads with glasses."

I rolled my eyes and threw a hand in the air. "I can't believe this."

"While your enthusiasm is appreciated, patience is a virtue," he responded playfully. "I'll see myself out."

"The door is that way."

"Right. 'Cause I'm gonna walk out the front door in armor and a cape. That would kinda ruin the whole urban legend thing, don't you think? I'll use the balcony."

"What do you mean you'll use the balcony? And, you haven't answered my other question."

"Yes I did," he said grasping the railing with both hands. "I said pretend this conversation never happened."

"Don't patronize me, Robin."

"I would _never_ patronize a Gotham City Police Officer." Then Robin, with the gracefulness of an Olympic gymnast, heaved himself off the floor and into a handstand on the balcony railing.

I nearly had another bowel movement. "Omigod, what're you doing?" That was twice in a week.

"Trying to impress you. Is it working?"

My eyes flicked from his upside-down armored body, his camouflaged face, and his cape and hair whipping in the wind below him. "None of this makes any sense." And it didn't. I was genuinely distraught. One minute he was sneaking into my apartment to recruit me, the next minute he was being evasive and suicidal.

"The first lesson of being a _bat_ is patience. This whole thing doesn't happen all at once ya know. We'll contact you. By the way, no more freelancing and gun-toting or the deal's off."

"What deal? When are you going to contact me?"

"Me. You. Black dress. Heels. Put your hair up, too."

"Ugh."

"You're kinda cute when you're frustrated." His smile was Cheshire and I think he knew it.

Then his gloves squeaked against the metal as he rocked his legs away from the building and out into the cityscape.

I yelped as gravity grabbed him by the ankles and yanked him clear of the balcony. I ran to the edge and watched him tumble into the darkness. Suddenly, bat wings opened on his back and he glided off into the city.

I'd swear that he was laughing.


	10. You Got Mail

2:19PM

/Unsent, suspicious e-mail found in Draft Box of Officer Gordon's E-mail/

Babs—Ya know for a woman with like 35 masters-degrees in network security, you really got some lousy network security ;-P After all these months of training you, I got an assignment for you. Let's see if they've paid off.

Three of Rupert Thorne's lieutenants are meeting at an upper westside Greek restaurant called the Aegean. Their reservation is for 3 at 11PM so that leaves me to believe that they won't have many bodyguards with them if any…but don't bank on it. I want you to take all three of them out as a message to Thorne. I want him to know that he's being watched. Use the lessons that I've taught you about stealth, ambush, and fighting to make this successful. These aren't simply drunk rapists; these are hardened criminals and killers. They will fight back lethally if you give them the opportunity. You got to make every shot count. Couple things: 1) Don't wear that ridiculous Halloween mask you have hiding in your underwear drawer—I left a mask that I want you to wear on your coffee table (your locks suck btw). And, 2) No guns…remember, killing makes us no better than them.

3 You know who.


	11. Mask Of Tengu

11:51PM

I parked at the corner of Merrimac Street and 174th Avenue staking-out the Aegean through my windshield. The intersection was a one-lane both side thoroughfare with a two-way stop-sign and was moderately lit by an orange-yellow hue reflecting off the otherwise black and gray of the dark Gotham streets. The now-closed family operated shops and convenience stores that dotted Merrimac barely added any extra light. By day, this portion of Gotham was fairly charming with its sporadic umbrella shaped trees and its cobblestones avenues. At night though, the street felt haunted. It was any wonder why anybody wanted to be here after dark.

Robin said the gloominess of Gotham provided a great backdrop to launch attacks against the underworld. I intended to use that aspect in this attack. I just needed to get psyched up; I was really anxious and really uncomfortable. I'm sure the fact that I had just started my period had something to do with that.

The flak vest wasn't helping the situation either. It was squeezing my chest more so than normal, so I shifted constantly trying to ease the discomfort. I was inclined to not wear it knowing that my breast were going to be sore but uncomfortable woman-parts were better than a bullet hole any day of the week. To top it off, my pants felt tighter than usual. I took some medicine to relieve some of the discomfort but it wasn't doing a good job. Ugh, why did Mother Nature have to be so diligent?

I thought for moment about trying to see if this undertaking could have been handled the following week but I assumed that such a request would fall on deaf ears. If I was intending to continue this partnership, I should perhaps consider regulation. Note to self.

Adding to the discomfort, the newest additions to my outfit—two dull-gray colored bracers that ran the length of my forearm with three one-inch hooked blades jutting from the base of each—were extremely uncomfortable but for different reasons. They were heavy, not well balanced, and pinched my wrists if I bent my hands further back than the bracers appreciated. At least I was used to the vest; these things, not so much. Robin said they'd grow on me after I realized how useful they were. That had yet to be seen.

Thorne's lieutenants were sitting at a small table near the window which made watching them easy. I decided that when they got up to leave, I'd strike. I'd have to be quick, though. According to their records, two of them had done some hard-time for violent crime while the third apparently served in the Army two decades ago and was discharged for habitual domestic violence. I had to anticipate that their background made them capable fighters and that I needed to take them by surprise. I couldn't do this like a Marine; I had to do this like Robin had been teaching me. I had to be _elemental_ just like he said, sweeping through and laying waste.

The things he had been teaching me over the past six or so months were incredible: Man-hunting, surveillance, stealth, philosophy, and combat. Combat is an understatement, really. I already knew how to fight, learning Taekwondo as kid and Kempo, Ishin Ryuu, and Marine Corps Mixed Martial Arts while I was still enlisted. But in comparison to what Robin had been teaching me, all those styles just seemed like they were for show—like cheerleading.

Robin taught me to be aggressive and calculating, lethal and controlled, focused and aware; to strike with precision and to use all my styles together like carefully designed choreography.

I really wondered where he learned all of it, he wasn't a day over twenty-one. Surely, Batman taught him but that didn't answer the question: Where did Batman learn it all?

I watched Thorne's men pay, get up from their table, and trickle to the door. I wanted them all together. I didn't want to take the chance of one or two of them getting away if I attacked them separately.

I grabbed my backpack from the backseat, unzipped it, and pulled Robin's gift from it. It was a round, full-faced Asian mask resembling a bat, sporting pointed ears; a stubby, turned-up nose; a fanged grimace; and empty eyeholes. Robin called it the Mask of Tengu. I called it twisted.

Why did he want me to wear this ridiculous thing? Was he trying to humiliate me? Was this some sort of initiation?

I situated the mask over my head. It was unsurprisingly stuffy and hindered my peripheral vision; nothing I couldn't deal with. Getting down the street unnoticed, though, was going to be the real problem but I had a plan to deal with that.

I brought along a dark-gray wool blanket to cover myself with. While it wouldn't be inconspicuous, I would look like just any normal bum trying to stay warm in the frigid Gotham November. It would allow me enough cover to close-in before I was noticed.

I stowed my discomfort and climbed out of the car, covering myself with the blanket and shutting the door with my foot simultaneously. Then I shuffled across the rain-soaked street passing an unsuspecting couple as I hopped the curb of the adjacent sidewalk. They looked at me but I didn't pay them any attention; the anxiety was so heavy that I had to focus hard to keep myself from puking and drowning myself inside the mask.

Once on the sidewalk, I made a straight line to the gangsters trying to move diligently enough so as to time the attack properly without alerting them as they exited the restaurant to their vehicles.

The valet pulled-up in a champagne Mercedes, hopped out, and scurried around to open the passenger door. One of the gangsters moved inside the door, paying the valet and turning to talk to the other one…two…three?

Okay. There were four total. One must've been a bodyguard. Robin had mentioned that there may be more than three. My anxiety increased considerably and I began to self-chastise for not bringing my gun. Why did I let Robin convince me to not carry it? What if they were armed? What did I mean 'What if they were armed'? Of course they were armed. These were some of Rupert Thorne's most trusted wiseguys. I must've been out of my mind for agreeing to this—Mask of Tengu notwithstanding. There was still time to turn back. I didn't have to do this, especially if my chances of survival were dangerously low. Besides, I had to work in the morning. How would I explain not being able to show up because I was seriously injured by local Mafiosi while attempting to take the law in to my own hands? For goodness sake, my father was the Commissioner of Police. I would bury his career if I wound up in the hospital.

No!

Stop it, Babs!

Babs? Really? I've never called myself Babs a day in my life. What the hell was happening to me? All this time with Robin was messing with my head.

I slowed my breathing trying to untie the knots in my stomach realizing that in the time I spent second-guessing myself, I had closed within about ten yards of Thorne's crew. They were arrayed in a line from left to right between the car and the restaurant entrance. One was standing inside the passenger side's open door, another was just a foot or so away, with a third just another foot from the second, and the fourth was standing perpendicular with his back to the restaurant. The valet was between me and them.

I tightened my gait and picked up a little speed.

Lord, be with me…

I shot past the valet into the group of men. They all froze when they saw the big gray odd-shape closing in. I rushed the one just to the right of the car door, slinging the blanket over his head and revealing the mask. The man to his immediate right reached into his leather jacket and pulled his gun free.

At that moment, everything blurred and passed in an instant.

I attacked him and slung him over my hip onto the concrete. I kicked the man standing inside the car door and then struck the last guy. Then I hit my first victim with the first object I could get my hands on. Once he went down, I leapt into the car and mauled the man who had fallen in.

Omigod! I couldn't waste too much time! How much time had passed? What if more people showed up? I had to get out of there before someone came after me!

I jumped from the car forgetting how big the mask was and hitting it against the door frame nearly unmasking myself. I dodged around the door righting the mask on my head so it didn't fall off and high-stepped through the pile of bleeding and whimpering gangsters over to the blanket. I scooped it up without slowing, slung it over my head again, and sprinted down the sidewalk towards the nearest alley, ducking into it as soon as I cleared the corner.

I couldn't believe that I had just done that. I couldn't believe that I just attacked four gangsters without so much of a thought. Once the attacked started, it was like I wasn't even in my own body.

The adrenaline bade me to keep my pace up even though my lungs wouldn't have it. I neared the end of the alley were it dog-legged to the left at a bluff that let-down a sixty-foot relief standing above the next street. The upper westside was built along stair-like bluffs which caused the alleys to abruptly change direction. Additionally, most upper westside alleys were level with the roofs of buildings on the street below; a perfect get away if you were a bit daring according to Robin.

I wouldn't have known until I tried.

I wasn't quite at top speed as I neared the wall, not with the blanket restricting my arm-movement like it was. I let go of it, allowing it to flutter to the ground as I pulled away accelerating. I came up to the knee-high stone wall, bounded up, and gave the jump everything I had to clear the four- or five-foot wide chasm between the bluff and the side of the building on the next street. I landed a little harder than I would have wished and it caused me to collapse. I gave in to gravity, tucked my arms in tightly, and rolled over my shoulder and back onto my feet struggling to keep the mask on my head. I continued running—albeit not as quickly—towards the service door and went through, ducking around the corner into the shadows inside the building's upper landing.

I crouched in a corner just above the stairs. It was pitch black and smelled like the inside of…the Mask of Tengu. Realizing that I was still on my head, I pulled it off.

Sweat was pouring down my face and I could feel steam rising from my sweat-soaked hair. I was starting to come off the adrenaline and suddenly the whole scene came rushing in. The things I hadn't noticed during the attack became suddenly recognizable: Their clothes, their cries, the few witnesses, even the backpack slapping as I ran.

I closed my eyes and I could see the fray with an impossible clarity that I lacked earlier:

_I shot past the valet and into the group of the four men. They all froze and I rushed the one wearing a slate gray jacket just to the right of the car door, slinging the blanket over his head. The man to his immediate right who was wearing the brown hat__—clearly startled but still moving—__reached into his brown leather jacket and pulled his gun free._

_ I reacted quickly going underneath his gun-arm with two calculated steps, getting a hold of his wrist, and driving my bracer up through his elbow changing it from a chevron-shape into a tent-shape with a ghastly snap. _To be honest, I didn't know I had that kind of power.

_ I pivoted, driving my shoulder into the armpit of his injured arm and then, using my body as a fulcrum, I yanked him off of his feet with my hips, heaved him over my body and slung him to the ground; he hit the pavement like a ragdoll. I used the momentum of the arc that his body drew to multiply the kinetic energy of a sidekick that I shot-out and planted just beneath the ribcage of the man inside the car door, who had come forward in those initial seconds, and drove him into the passenger side. He spilled onto the seat clawing the air unable to breathe._

_ The last man, who was wearing a blue suit, was initially startled backwards but found his steel and came at me as I finished attacking the other two. He swung out wide to his right and I slipped beneath the blow and sprung my next attack. I snatched both sides of his head at the ears and yanked it towards me as I leapt off the ground and drove my left knee into his face. His nose gave out with a terrible crunch and an instant stream of blood that splattered all over my leg._

_ The man I had covered with the blanket had managed to uncover himself by that time but stood hamstrung by the sight of his colleagues succumbing to the unholy-visage of the Mask of Tengu. _

_ I didn't give him time to recover, I grabbed up one of the portable, waist-high, bronze posts standing vigilantly outside the restaurant and leveled it against his waist, he staggered; then mid-arm, he teetered; then shoulder, he buckled; and, then I clipped the front of his face right before he hit the hood of the car and then rolled onto the street. I don't think I knocked out any of his teeth, though I had tried._

_ With an obnoxious CLANG, I tossed the post onto the ground next to him and pounced on the man prostrate in the passenger seat. I set upon him bodily pinning him to the center console with my weight—even though I was only half his size—and holding him in place by pressing the blades of my right bracer against his jugular. He struggled initially, grasping at my kevlar and BDUs so I slammed my left fist into his cheek twice; that took most of the fight out of him. Then, I grabbed a handful of his executive jacket and pulled him close. He stared fearfully into the mask with tear-filled, swelling eyes._

_ "Tell Thorne the Batman is watching him!" I growled trying to disguise the femininity of my voice._

Then I was back in my own body in the shadows with the mask in my hand. I took a deep breathe, my lungs burned.

I did it.

I couldn't believe it.

I really did it.

I felt so empowered.

I felt alive.

Most women got that feeling from marriage and child-birth but here I was huddled in the darkness reeling from assaulting four criminals. And, not just any criminals, foot-soldiers for none other than Rupert Thorne, the rival war-chief to the Marrone crime family.

They were all injured and were going to be out-of-commission for an undetermined amount of time. During that time Gotham would be free of their criminality. That was four less criminals to stalk the streets—four less. Moreover, they'd always remember what happened here tonight and, with any luck, they'd reconsidered their job choices.

I still couldn't believe it. And, best of all, I didn't feel the conflict of being a police officer and being a vigilante.

Then I heard the service door open, iridescent moonlight poured into the landing but there wasn't a shadow cast by someone in the doorway. The wind must have blown the door open—creepy.

I looked around the corner anyway; I just wanted to make sure that I wasn't being followed. My eyes squinted involuntarily as they were bombarded with moonlight and I focused downrange scanning the roof and what I could see of the alley.

Just then something grabbed me from behind!

I screamed.

I struggled.

Its grip was like a vice, its arms felt like steel, and I felt clawed digits pressing into my throat.

I bucked wildly slinging rapid fire elbows and trying to drive the sole of my shoe into its knee. But it overpowered me and shrugged off my blows. The harder I fought, the hard its grip became.

Something covered my face.

I thrashed like a marlin caught in a fisherman's net but couldn't break free.

The light was fading.

Everything went black.


	12. Deep

Time Unknown

My eyes opened but it was so dark that it was as if they hadn't at all. Where was I? I went to sit up. Wait, I was sitting up and why couldn't I move my hands. What the hell was going on?

Suddenly, I remembered what had happened: I had been sitting on the landing of the building's stairwell when the service door had opened. Suspicious, I peeked around the corner at the doorway to be sure that I wasn't being followed even though I hadn't seen a shadow of someone standing at the door. Once my eyes had enough time to focus downrange, someone grabbed me from behind.

Thorne's men had got the drop on me. They must've had a lookout somewhere that had managed to track me and pass my location to more goons. They circled around the block and ambushed me.

How was I going to get out of this? They were going to kill me! I needed to get ahold of Robin somehow. I needed help. I had to get free.

I snapped my arms forward but they abruptly came to a stop just level with my lap. I could also feel an increase in humidity every time I exhaled. My hands were tied to a chair and there was a bag over my head.

I began to panic.

"Hello!" I screamed.

My voice echoed.

I wrestled against my bindings trying to overpower them but it was no use.

I exhaled defeat and resignation. I should have known better than this. I should have listened to my father when he said not to take the law into my own hands. The outcome of which could be terrible and catastrophic. I had known that in theory but I suppose that I never internalized it. Now, I was going to have the rest of my life to accept it—however short that was.

I sat quietly for a while drifting along a current of regret to the rhythm of my heartbeat and a faint chirping. Who did I think I was? What made me think that I could get away with this? Was it pride—delusion? Perhaps Murph was right, perhaps I had developed an unhealthy infatuation with Batman and vigilantism. Now, I was a victim of both.

Wait…

For the first time I could actually feel my bindings resting against the meat of my hand just above the thumb. I torqued my wrist and felt the bindings give. Then I checked for space by moving my shoulder up and down and felt the bindings slide up the bracer and back down to rest on my wrist.

They were loose.

…_To be honest, Babs, _Escapology_ is based less on contortionism and magic and based more on the jailor's inability to tie knots…_

The rope had been tied around my bracer, not my wrist, and the bracer had a larger circumference.

I sat up as straight as I could and pushed my shoulders back as far as humanly possible in a Kevlar vest. It pressed uncomfortably against my sore chest but I ignored that. The rope fell to rest against my wrist again.

I made a tight, compact cylinder with my thumb and fingers and pulled upwards steadily and deliberately at the shoulder and elbow. The rope went taut and squeezed my hand more and more the further I lifted. The pain was minimal at first but grew with each millimeter. The rope crushed and grinded my carpals together like a python squeezing the life out of its prey. It took every ounce of my womanhood to keep from moaning to relieve the pain.

Then, I felt my hand break free and I let out a triumphant breath.

I wriggled my hand until the rope fell away and I could move my entire arm. I grabbed at the canvas covering my face and found that it was bound by a buckle. With the click of a latch, it fell open and I pulled the bag from my head.

I scanned my surroundings; my senses going into overdrive as they tried to equalize after being stuffed in a sack. And, what I saw confused the dickens out of me.

I found myself in a round, yet jagged, cave.

A cave.

What the _hell_ was I doing in a cave?

I must've been drugged or dreaming, because there was no way I was in a damn cave.

Prior to taking the bag off, the situation was intense. Now, the situation was intense and weird.

Realizing that I could contemplate the merits of my situation later, I opted to finish untying myself. I pulled the rope taut with my left arm and then reached across with the right to saw through the rope with the blades on the bracer. After a few pumps, I cut cleanly through the rope freeing my other arm. Then, I set both hands to work clearing my feet of their bindings. The last set of coils hit the shale of the cave floor and I jumped out of the office chair to leave.

Wait…

Why was there an office chair in a cave?

"WTF?" I asked the universe just above a whisper.


	13. The Dark Path

Time Unknown

I must've stumbled through the blackness of cavernous tunnels for hours always seeming to find my way back to the same antechamber in which I had originated. The cave was cool and humid and smelled of mildew and the air tasted like stale, bland earth. The tunnels were pitch black but the antechamber was conveniently lit by moonlight peering through several holes in the ceiling. It wasn't much light but it was enough to keep me from panicking. Thorne's crew had to carry me and the chair in here which meant the exit couldn't be too far away; they probably had flashlights though.

Even though I had already combed every tunnel leading away from the antechamber, I figure that sitting on my tail in the chair brooding over the fact that I couldn't see anything wasn't going to get me out of this mess any faster. So, I decide to continue trolling the passages in the event that I had missed something.

Sure enough, as I was feeling my way down a tunnel hand-over-hand, I noticed an opening in the rock that I had apparently overlooked…rather felt. I was initially apprehensive to venture deeper into the darkness but at that point, I had very little to lose.

I stepped into the mouth of the new tunnel feeling the gradient shift downwards and the composition of the floor change. My eyes were completely useless in the pitch black so I keep my hands on the wall at all times feeling my way along the jagged path as if I were reading brail.

The tunnel burrowed deeper and deeper into the rock and I became increasingly uneasy when I noticed the ceiling closing in on me. Just as I began to court the idea of turning back, my eyes suddenly picked up a faint glow around a snaking corner. My stomach swelled with elation.

I tried the best I could to suppress the desire to pick up the pace considering I still couldn't actually make out the floor in spite of the faint light but I couldn't help it. I just wanted out of here. I needed to get ahold of Robin—even though I wasn't sure how—and let him know that I had been kidnapped.

After two more turns, I cleared the tunnel and walked into a massive chamber—at least three times the size of the one in which I woke—that must have climbed a hundred feet above me and fell only God knows how far beneath me over the cliffs. Oddly enough, the chamber was dimly lit by three passive flood lights situated at different corners. I supposed that I was so stressed about being lost underground and relieved that there was enough light to see where I was putting my feet that it hadn't registered the flood lights—even dim ones—were not naturally found in caves.

I finally figured out where the chirping was coming from. The ceiling was covered with bats like moss on the bark of an old tree—a rolling, twitching mass of eyes and leathery wings.

I eased my way to the edge of the small rocky outcropping and looked over. If I wasn't careful, it was going to be a long, dark fall since I didn't have wings like my neighbors upstairs. As such, I kept as close to the wall as possible while I searched for the exit.

I followed the rocky pathway to the left as it climbed and descended devoid of reason and direction like a maze without walls.

I had no clue where I was going. I was super-frustrated and I was cramping like crazy. And, the only thing I could think of to ease myself was to blurt out, "Where the hell am I?"

"Where pain goes to take on new form," a voice echoed through the chamber.

What the hell was that?

I jumped—again. I squeaked—again. That reaction was starting to get annoying. Further, I stirred the bats to a significant chitter.

Just then, a bright light snapped to life above and behind me. It didn't afford the cavern much light but revealed its single purpose: There was Batman's eerie silhouette sitting on gray earth, backlit by a cone of blue. He was like a regal lord sitting on a throne of darkness and shadow and stone, some ten feet above me, in the same way I would expect a lord of the underworld to appear to their denizens and thralls.

Like I said, this was just getting weird in addition to intense.

He didn't saying anything else for almost a minute before I finally mustered the courage to speak, "B—Batman?"

He didn't respond. He didn't even so much as move.

"What is this place?" I shrugged, unsure of what to do next.

"Why are you here?" His voice was distant thunder.

"Umm...I don't know really. I just woke up in here. Somebody grabbed me and tied me up."

"That is how you came to be here, but not the reason. Are you merely just a pawn in a shadow's game?"

"What?"

Who asks a question like that?

He was all ice.

"No. I'm no one's pawn."

"Then why are you here?"

"I'm here because I was attacked unexpectedly and I woke up in this cave," I said running my hand over my manged hair and then adjusting myself beneath the Kevlar. "Robin gave me a task and I did it. But after I had finished it, someone attacked me from behind. I hid in a nearby building; I think Thorne's men had had a lookout." He didn't look the least bit moved and I looked completely disheveled. "Look, Batman, I'm totally creeped-out if that's what you want. Now, I want to know what the hell's going on here."

Then it dawned on me that Batman had managed to track me and sneak up behind me in the past. The only reason I had noticed him was because he wanted me to. I hadn't seen this attack coming. What if the _shark_ had decided to take a bite this time?

"Was it you that attacked me from behind and tied me up?"

Suddenly, Robin emerged on Batman's left from the murky mix of light and shadow carrying something the size of a bowling ball in his left hand. Unlike Batman, Robin was not a silhouette but rather entirely visible in the light except for his face. He stood still for a moment and fixed me with his shadow-covered eyes. Then he took a step forward and tossed the object at me from the mound.

I stepped clear of its flight path instinctively knowing to step laterally and to safety, rather than back and to my death. The object hit the shale floor with the consistency of a pillow rolling only once and then coming to a stop.

I squinted trying to optimize what light was available in the dark cave and realized that he had thrown theMask of Tengu. It _was_ them who attacked me!

"That _was_ you who attacked me! What the hell is wrong with you two? Is this some sort of game to you two whack-jobs?"

"Why are you here?" Batman queried again.

"You asked me that already! Why did you attack me?" I demanded.

"Because you're weak. Because you're incapable."

"What? I'm weak? I'm incapable?"

Again, they said nothing; they just looked down on me.

In that instant, I had had enough. I had grown tired of being looked down on. I had grown tired of their games. I had grown tired of Gotham. I had grown tired of men. I had grown tired of everything.

That's when I let it all out.

I stormed over and snatched the mask if off of the ground, "I won't let you play games with me! I won't allow you to look down on me! You're no better than me! I've been fighting for people since I was seventeen! I've been putting my life on the line for years!" I pointed the mask at them accusingly, "Who're you to judge me when you're hiding out in a rotting cave! I'm out there every day!"

"Why are you here?"

"I'm here because you dragged me! And, you dragged me here because you want to play your sick game with me for no other reason except that I was inspired by you! I'm here because I want to take back Gotham—I want to even the score! And, I thought you were that means! But," I calmed myself and spoke evenly, "I guess—I guess I wrong."

"Vengeance has no place here—only sacrifice."

"It's not vengeance I want. I just want to make a difference. I want to change Gotham, so that it doesn't remain the desolate hell that it is now."

"How far are you willing to go to achieve that goal?"

"Short of selling my soul."

"This path is a dark one and once started down, there is no turning back."

"Look at me. Does it look like I ended up here because I have commitment issues?"

"A mask doesn't make you the Bat; the Bat must be earned. It must be earned through a willingness to sacrifice. You have proven your willingness to make sacrifices. You were a Marine once and taught the art of soldiering. You were battle-hardened and steeled in a warzone. But know this: Soldiering will not see you survive in this war. This war is not about sovereignty and nation-building but rather about the moral fitness and the collective soul of a people. This war is about Gotham's salvation and we are its shepherds…surrounded by hungry wolves. This war is unclean and insidious. This war requires you to be more than the crude substance by which you are created. You must transcend that and transform your pain and your sacrifice, lest you become another casualty of this war. Are you willing to walk the dark path without mental reservation?"

"I thought I was weak and incapable?"

He didn't take the bait, "Are you willing to walk the dark path without mental reservation?"

My frustration and anger evaporated when I realized that this too was calculated—like the first night. This was all a test of my commitment.

"I am," I replied.

Robin moved ahead of Batman's throne. The pillar of light instantly stripped him of his features and he became the same inky blackness that Batman was to his right. It was the same inky blackness that enveloped them on the first night I had seen them.

"From this moment forward," Robin said finally, his voice sounding real and lacking the usual menace, "do you swear that you will strike at evil from the shadows in defense of the weak?"

The whole situation felt surreal, like a scene out of a movie. It reminded me of the legends knights and crusaders who swore oaths of honor and fealty to their lords.

"I do."

"Do you swear that you will regard the lives of others above your own and make war on all criminals?"

And, in most respects, the average person would find this whole display to be absolutely ridiculous and utterly insane but I was far from average. Even, if I wanted to say 'no', I couldn't. I was already in too deep and I didn't want to be on the surface with the prey. I wanted to be in the murky depths with my kind—the predators.

"I do."

"Do you swear that you will become the last bastion of defense in Gotham, defending it to the last person and leaving the wicked to fear its borders?"

"I do."

"Do you swear to accept your judgment when our mission is complete?"

"I do."

"If this oath you swear, don the Mask of Tengu and climb the relief," Robin instructed retreating beneath his cape.

I held the mask between both hands and regarded its fanged maw and hollow eyes. It was all at once a symbol of fear and of hope. I feared what was to come next but I hoped for the best. I feared that this was but another game for them but I hoped that this was a sign of acceptance.

I accepted fear and hope and turned the mask over and placed it over my head.

I drew in a deep breath and willed myself up the incline towards Batman and Robin. My feet were heavy as I climbed; my mind was apprehensive; my resolve, however, was unshaken. This mask didn't make me a Bat but my resolve did.

I came to a halt at the crest of the incline just short of Robin, looking past him through the mask's hollow eyes at Batman.

"Barbara Gordon," Batman rumbled, "you are deemed worthy to wear the Mantle of the Bat. From this moment forward you will swear secrecy, never speaking of our meetings or our operations nor reveal your truest identity. By donning the Mask of Tengu, you have accepted shadow and fear as your allies. You will show criminals no mercy and you will show them that there are things far worse than death. Criminals are superstitious and cowardly, you will prey on that…and I will provide you the means and the resources to do so."

"So what happens now?" my voice was muffled in the mask.

"Once we were two. Now, we are three."

Another light came on not too far away and I saw what resources he had for me. It was armor, a cape, and cowl with ears. The boots had heels…to make me appear taller. I wasn't going to need my flak vest anymore.

"The underworld trembles—for their fear swells in number."


	14. Created Equal

Dad was sitting in his usual booth at Willie's. I tried my best to sneak up on him but that man has sonar like a bat—no pun intended. Once I saw him turn and smile, I gave up on the whole sneaking thing.

"Hi, daddy. I brought you something."

"Hey, honey." He tried to stand but I placed a hand on his shoulder indicating for him to remain seated.

"This is for you," I said placing a nondescript plastic bag in front of him and kissing him on the cheek.

"Oh, what did I do to deserve this?"

I batted my eyelashes. "You're the number one man in my life."

"What do you _want_?"

"Seriously, daddy?"

"You know, honey, you're not the first woman in my life…"

"I'm injured," I said placing my hand over my heart. "I don't _want_ anything."

"Fine. What's _his_ name?"

"_His_ name?" I played innocent and he knew I was. "What makes you think there's a _his_?"

"Barbara, I'm a detective…and I'm your father. I know you pretty well."

He was right, though—on both accounts. One: There was a _his. And, two: _He was a detective with uncanny instincts especially regarding his daughter. He often knew things about me before I did so the only way I could keep things from him was by not saying anything at all. I supposed knowing me better than I knew myself was a necessary attribute for single father raising a daughter.

What was I supposed to say, though? Yeah, dad—_his _name is Robin. He's absolutely gorgeous with fluffy, black hair and mesmerizing green eyes. He's daring, charming, wise beyond his years, and is a chip off of _his_ old block. Most of all, he's all the rage in his _work_ clothes. Honestly, he's a bit of a bad-boy and really popular among the Who's Who of Gotham. I hope that you're not disappointed with me because he's one of the most-wanted outlaws in the city.

"Well, I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Detective. Now, open your gift."

"Okay—you don't have to talk to me about anything you're not ready to talk about." He looked in the bag first and his mustache stretched out across face above his smile as he reached in. "Barbara, you shouldn't have."

"Of course I should have, silly."

My dad pulled out a snow globe, which I had specially ordered for him, depicting a Colonial Soldier teaching his daughter to shoot a musket. I thought the design expressed our relationship so perfectly. My dad was a pioneer struggling to forge a new world for his daughter and at the same time had to teach his daughter to live in the current world as well as defend the new one.

That was my dad, the pioneer, the soldier, the public servant, the father.

I was the luckiest girl on earth. My life hadn't been perfect but my dad surely was as close to perfect as one man could get. I felt I owed him so much, so much so that I needed him to answer a question that I had been eating at me.

"Barbara, this is amazing," he said looking over the top of his glasses.

"You like it?"

"Are you kidding? I love it. High-Five," he said putting his hand the air.

I smiled big and reciprocated. "Okay—do you want some more coffee?"

"Sure."

"Claire, can we get some more coffee at your earliest convenience?"

"Coming right up, darling," she replied from behind the counter.

"Daddy, can ask you something?"

"Sure, honey. What's on your mind?"

"Do you think I'm a good cop?"

"Of course I do. Why would you ask that?"

"I just wonder what you think sometimes."

"Where are you going with this?"

My expression flattened, "Why do I have to be going somewhere with this?"

"Barbara..."

"Fine—you win." I inhaled deeply, "I know the GCPD's stance on the vigilantes but I...I kind of support them. Does that make me a bad cop?"

He leaded back in his chair and stared into me. "What do you mean by _support_ them?"

"Well, like I told one the guys in my office a while back, the Bat doesn't attack elderly ladies coming home from the grocery store in the middle of the night. Instead, he fills ERs with dangerous criminal. I guess what I'm saying is...if he's going to do what the GCPD can't—or won't—I'm okay with that."

"Vigilantism is a crime, Barbara."

"Let's not play, dad." I inclined my head in his direction, "Rumors circulate that the _Commissioner_ consorts with the vigilante and his posse."

"Sure, honey. There are also rumors that the _Commissioner_ is consorting with every prostitute and drug-dealer on the eastside. Rumors are what criminals use to validate their questionable actions."

"So, what would you say to the Bat after you just witnessed him rescuing a bunch of kids from a burning building?"

"I'd thank him for his selfless action and then I'd tell him that he's under arrest for taking the law into his own hand."

"Saving people from a burning building isn't taking the law into your own hands."

"No. But being a vigilante is." My dad pulled off his glasses and started cleaning them with his napkin, "And, rescuing people doesn't absolve you of your crimes."

"So that's it?"

"No. I'd see to it that the Bat was charged for operating a continuing criminal enterprise."

"Wow. Why? He's more effective than the police."

"You know the answer to that, Barbara. And, if the Bat's really as serious about returning the Rule of Law to Gotham, then he'd be prepared to accept the consequences of his actions.

Dad replaced his glasses. "My job isn't to do what makes me happy. My job is to organize and to command the GCPD to execute the laws in the best interest of the people."

I heard Robin's voice in my head, '_Do you swear to accept your judgment when our mission is complete?' _Now, I truly understood what he meant when he said that. There was no way out and he and Batman knew it. They intended to fight this to end and if they didn't die _in-the-line-of-duty_, then they intended to submit themselves to the law—a legitimate law.

"Are you thankful for what the Bat does, dad?"

"Off-the-record—yes. But that doesn't change my duty."

Duty.

That's what all this was about.

A sense of duty.

My sense of duty—Officer Barbara Gordon's sense of duty—was no different than my dad's, or Batman's, or Robin's, or Batgirl's. We all were different. We had different motivations, different perspectives, and even different make-up. But at its core we were all created equal under duty.

Our means may have been different but our ends weren't. It was the means that determined our consequences and we all had a duty to be prepared to deal with them. And, a strong sense of duty made dealing with those consequences okay as long as you reached the proper end.

As Batgirl, I intended to bring about that end and I was prepared to deal with the consequences when time came.

Hopefully, I'd make my Dad proud come what may.


	15. Epilogue

EPILOGUE: The Killing Joke

:::Two years-prior to the events of SHADOW OF THE BAT: Best Served Cold:::

5:28PM

Today felt normal but something was different. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. It was like when you were trying to remember someone's name but couldn't and the name was right there just beyond your recollection.

Well, in Gotham City, an insidious feeling of something different usually meant that something was terribly wrong.

"Daddy, I'm going to make some coffee. I bought this new flavor from Coffee Bean called Heavenly Mint. You want some?"

It was a lazy Saturday evening and I had come over to my dad's house to help him with some archiving. He's a chronic scrapbooker and chronicles all of the major exploits of Gotham City from elections to charity functions to vigilantism—especially vigilantism. I don't mean to brag on myself too much, but he even had a scrapbook that chronicled the media's hype about a certain female vigilante that emerged wearing the mantle of the Bat. As Robin predicted, the media gave me the same name that he gave me during our first meeting.

The scrapbook was the only interaction I had with my father in regards to my alter ego. Batman explicitly forbade me any contact with the GCPD—most especially the Police Commissioner—under any circumstance while acting as Batgirl. He claimed that I was too close and it would be a conflict of interest that would seriously compromise our operations.

"No, thanks. But, since you're in there, could you grab me a beer out of the fridge."

"Sure, daddy," I replied from the kitchen.

I watched dad contemplatively turn the pages in one of his many scrapbooks and then close it before checking a text message on his phone. Then he stood, stretched, and moseyed into his study from the living room out of view.

"Are you going to make a phone call?"

"No, honey, I'm looking for a specific scrapbook. It has a certain article about an arsonist that I want to look at. I just don't remember where I put it."

"There's better way to catalog your stuff."

"I'm sure. I just don't have the kind of time necessary to play librarian."

Once I started the coffee-maker brewing, I went across the living room into dad's study. He was on his knees digging through a crate.

"Alright, here's what I'm going to do: I'm going to go to the electronics store and buy you an external hard-drive. Then I'm going to scan all of the documents and pictures in your scrapbooks so you can store them on it. That way you can make electronic scrapbooks instead of having billions of boxes full of dust and books. It'll be much easier to find specific articles that way."

"I don't know, honey. Part of the fun of a scrapbook is the cutting and pasting. All that computer mumbo-jumbo just sounds like it's going to make it difficult."

"It'll take you just as long to scan and organize the documents as it does to cut and paste. Except that now you won't have to worry about glue getting everywhere. And, the data will last longer."

"All these scrapbooks have lasted me this long."

"Yep. And, you're about two scrapbooks away from being legally classified as a hoarder."

"You're exaggerating."

"No, I'm not. If you had a wife, she'd agree with me."

"That's why I'm not married, honey."

"In any case, you have to upgrade someday. Times change you know."

"I'm just not into the whole social-media thing."

"Daddy, this is an external hard-drive, not an open forum."

"What about hackers?"

"You don't have anything a hacker wants."

"I am the Police Commissioner—"

"Hackers want money, not police commissioners. Accept this,you're upgrading and you're going to be better for it."

He resigned himself with a sigh and sat up to stretch his back and adjust his glasses.

There was a knock—a drumming would be more accurate—at the door to the beat of _Shave-And-A-Haircut_.

"I'll get it." I was in the doorway between the living room and the study and closer anyway. "You expecting somebody?"

"No one in particular. That's probably Carla from next door."

"That lovely brunette with the green purse? _Really_?"

"She just comes over once in a while to get sugar or whatever."

"I bet. You kids these days."

"Barbara—"

"You're a sweet guy." I said turning and making my way to the far end of the living room. "I can't blame her."

"Barbara, please."

Out of habit, I looked through the peephole leveraging myself against the door with both hands. All I could see was an eyeball pressed to the other end trying to look in. Apparently, our visitor was unaware that peepholes only worked in one direction. Perhaps, Carla was not as bright as I had assumed—assuming also that our visitor was, in fact, Carla. Suddenly, I was not so hip to the idea of her spending time with my father. Who was I to judge, though?

I craned my neck around the door to greet our visitor as I pulled it open and was instead greeted first by our guest's empty expression and then the blood splattered all over her chin, neck, and blouse.

She slumped against the door head-first, shoving it open ahead of me. Her eyes were stone despite the impact.

Confounded, I stepped back allowing the door to open.

Carla's cheek slid across the surface of the door until it had opened far enough for her to plunge in and fall to the floor unhindered. I would have rushed to catch her had I not been so paralyzed by what I saw standing behind her.

There was the barrel of a revolver—a shiny circle attached to an equally shiny cylinder against a brightly colored background. There was a camera hanging from the neck of the person behind the gun-arm. Behind the camera was the same background—a loud yellow and green Hawaiian shirt. Above that, beneath a huge purple brimmed hat, was a terrible, pale grimace that instantly stretched into an enormous, profane smile outlined in red and filled with yellow-brown teeth. And, above that, surrounded by black, were two hateful, brown eyes overflowing with murder.

"Fortune favors the bold!" His lips contorted as words escaped his cannibalistic smile. The sounds of his voice were simultaneously flat and sharp, treble and bass, and climbed with the sudden excitement and the pizazz of a singer energized by the reaction of his audience.

My feet were instantly cinder blocks cemented to the floor and my heart rattled as disbelief instantly transformed into unbridled fear.

"Barbara?" my dad called to me when the strange voice tripped his personal danger sensors.

There was no time to answer. There was no time to scream. No time to plead. No time for anything. Not in the amount of time it took for him to wink at me and then depress the trigger with an unclean finger…

_BOOM!_

"Barbara!" my dad screamed when he heard the gunshot.

A conflagration erupted in my gut. My hands went instantly to my stomach as my legs gave out. I fell through the glass-top of the side table next to the door landing next to Carla's body. The pain was so crippling that I couldn't unlock my jaw to close my mouth nor swallow the saliva that had pooled in the back of my throat blocking my airway.

"Oh my!" he exclaimed, his voice becoming childlike. "I like little Puss, her coat is so warm. And, if I don't hurt her, she'll do me no harm; so I'll not pull her tail nor drive her away. But Pussy and I very gently will play."

Then there was laughter—devilish, evil laughter that wasn't at all funny and made the pain more extreme. And, he danced a jig in his purple wingtip shoes and his knee-high lilac socks.

"Eve'ning, Commmm-ishuner!"

I could hear my dad screaming but that's all remember…


End file.
